


Robbers

by afterhoursfiction



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Crime AU, Experimental Style, Kuroo-centric, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, some blood and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 01:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10349511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterhoursfiction/pseuds/afterhoursfiction
Summary: Keiji is beautiful like the last slip of daylight, even when they're tired, broken or bruised. Koutarou is the temptation against Kuroo's better judgement, a crashing mix of danger and adventure. Between everything they have, Kuroo is both vulnerable and immortal.Crime au / Based off 'Robbers' by The 1975





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I couldn't write a proper summary, but this idea had been growing since months ago, and I've written and rewritten it countless times. This is mostly an experimental style, so it might not make the most sense. More than anything, I wanted to capture the mood/atmosphere that the song held for me. 
> 
> [Robbers by The 1975](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iyy3YOpxL2k) (video contains some nudity and blood)

The last slip of daylight passes through the windows, dragging their shadows long against the floors. The light hugs them in an ethereal glow, painting the perfect caricature of his face.

And this way, especially, Keiji is beautiful.

Kuroo leans against his shoulder, holding their bodies closer as a slow song plays from the radio. Caught in this fleeting moment of twilight, the leaks in the roof and the cracks in the floorboards are but small fissures in the back of their mind. Battered as it might be, this was their safehouse.

 

Koutarou is the impassioned beacon of a lighthouse. He shines bright in the tempest of Kuroo's life, entailing him to follow into the crashes of waves against the rocks. Oh, Kuroo knows; he's seen the signs and heard the warnings. But the tumultuous nature of Koutarou was his charm - without him, Kuroo was just a boy; school was just a place; life was just a routine.

With Koutarou to run and scream and _live_ with, Kuroo was both the clashing hypocrisies of vulnerable and immortal.

 

That Thursday they run their car onto the curb when they get home. Kuroo blames it on the adrenaline turning his hands unsteady, transforming his twenty year-old self into a chaotic teenager. They had left the store running, hurling vulgarities at the boss who won't pay them, bags stuffed with everything from the cash register. It had his blood pumping the same way it did when he cheated on a test, when he snuck out pass his curfew and when he first peered off the cliff at the thrashing waves. This was them taking the plunge.

They never go back to work. Koutarou plays it like they've hacked the game, cheated the world. Unease follows Keiji in the bags under his eyes, in his sharp movements and sharper words, and in the way he twists away from Kuroo before he can start to feel anything. Kuroo is held between them, teetering between Koutarou's whims and Keiji's defenses. He climbs onto the roof to drink and laugh with Koutarou, kissing teeth and tangling legs. In the quiet recesses of their kitchen, Kuroo holds Keiji, begging and begging.

Their house, with all its misplaced boards, faulty wiring and leaking roof, is the only place any of them would call home. Years ago, they had all lived along the same street. Messy memories of scrapped knees, too-hot summers and ice-cold popsicles were all it had left. Keiji forgets the strained dinners, the angry rejections and the broken bones. All of that 'home' had crumbled when he started loving boys.

 

* * *

 

Keiji cooks the last eggs in the fridge, scrambling them into lunch. Between unmade beds and unwashed laundry, their bodies lie sluggish in the dead of afternoon. It was like nobody bothered to live. Only a ghost of their younger selves remained when their bones were packed with lead and the motivation drained from their fingers.

He sets the plate down, knowing that it would taste the same as the ash in Kuroo's lungs.

When had it come to this?

Kuroo lights a cigarette, pointedly ignoring the food. Smoke rushes into the husk of his chest, and he exhales with a sort of relief. Keiji looks upset, or tired. Nowadays, it seemed to be either one or the other.

Koutarou enters the room with a skip in his step, his presence loud no matter how old they get. The commotion gets the both of them to look up, and Koutarou shows off the glint of silver in his hands. Oh, it was the glint of the ocean surface hiding a harrowing depth, and Koutarou's invitation to another plunge.

They were trapped. Their safehouse had closed in on them. When the last dollar slips from their hands, the roof comes down.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo still thinks Keiji is beautiful, somewhere between the tired lines in his eyes. In the sharp dip of his waist, Kuroo fits his hands.

The way Keiji presses back is desperate, feverish murmurs against his shoulder. The sheets tangle beneath Keiji's head as he moans, breaths escaping in stuttering whispers. Kuroo grits his jaw tight, pressing to bring their bodies together. Ecstasy flickers in the fringes of his mind, drawing a short blank before Keiji is speaking to him again.

"Stay," he says, breath hot, a prayer branding into his skin. "Stay, stay."

Kuroo backs away, so fast a chill drops over the sudden distance. Then the edge returns to Keiji's voice, and soon its closer to a riot than an argument.

 

* * *

 

They get in the car. Despite everything, Keiji is at the wheel, the seatbelt tight against his chest. With the sun halfway down the horizon, they drive off.

He drives past rows of dreary suburban houses, old schools and playgrounds they had long grown out of. In the backseat Kuroo wears a leather jacket that doesn't close over his chest, and Koutarou is spinning the firearm around his fingers. Keiji pulls up at their deadend, a corner store Koutarou had marked.

 

* * *

 

_"You look so cool."_

It was just a leather jacket, just a gun and just Kuroo. Yet somewhere in his head there were superheroes and action movies; infinity. He was something of a cliche and Kuroo laughs along with Koutarou. Keiji, too, had fallen into the spell enough to kiss them both, thinking nothing wrong of speaking and living on their youthful whims. Life was too short to build a shelter of bricks. All they cared about was a place for today and money for tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

The balaclava chafes on Kuroo's three day-old stubble as he pulls it over his head. Koutarou tilts and kisses him over the fabric. Then he's giving Kuroo that _look_ , the same look that has him feeling invincible. They bump their fists, then they're running.

There are three gunshots.

Blood blooms over Kuroo's chest when Koutarou takes him back to the car. Keiji has thrown open the door, leaping out of the car and rushing to Kuroo's side. He tears off the cloth mask. Hair is matted over Kuroo's face as he draws sharp breaths, his chest sagging with exertion. Keiji applies pressure to his wound, the only instinct he has left. It's too much blood. It stains everything it touches, soaking into Kuroo's white shirt and Keiji's trembling hands. Kuroo writhes against the seats, body both hot and cold.

Then Keiji hears the sirens. Koutarou pushes him, blood-stained hands and all, back into the driver's seat. Keiji grips the steering wheel tight as blood crusts over his palms.

_God, god, god._

He stares at the road ahead, the light fading in the sky. No matter how far they run, he never gets any closer. They had just been building promises on the shaky footholds of reality.

Their home was not a sanctuary. Their youthful dreams had been too big for his finite hands.

**Author's Note:**

> You can interpret the ending any way you want. Also, feel free to let me know how this reads, and whether you tie it to the song, etc.
> 
> Catch me on [tumblr](http://afterhoursfiction.tumblr.com)


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